Too Many Deals With Too Many Devils
by CrazyShyness
Summary: After Alduin's death and the defeat of the Stormcloak Rebellion, Skyrim is still in turmoil. Rumor has it that the Aldmeri Dominion is planning a Second War with the Empire. The Dragonborn is left to pick up these pieces. Even if he has a dragon's soul, he is still a single man. He cannot fight the Dominion alone.
1. Prologue: Battle's End in Imperial City

Arenar Roscius was not a very happy Imperial. As of late, he had been many things. 'Happy' was not one of them. Cicero's jokes did not help, Ysolda's body was not helping, and Cicero's comments regarding Arenar's wife's body was certainly not helping. He had other things to worry about. Many, many, many other things to worry about. Mostly the Dominion armies in Fort Nikel, Virtue, Roebeck, and Empire (the Dominion's rename be damned).

"Feast."

Imperial City had fallen. Twice in the past few days. Once by the hand of the Aldmeri Dominion, the second time by the Empire's. To call Imperial City a city any more would be a vast overstatement. The White-Gold Tower, while still standing, certainly didn't look like it would much longer. The city's walls were nigh useless, crushed on both sides by siege engines and spells and of course, Arenar's Thu'um. The city had never fully recovered from the Great War and it had no hope of ever recovering now.

"Feast."

The soldiers of the Imperial Army stared across Lake Rumare and the Dominion stared back. Both sides were angered but far too tired to resume fighting. Enough men and mer and beast had died today. Blood had been let, more would be tomorrow. It could wait until then.

"Feast."

Arenar couldn't take it any longer and slipped the Ring of Namira from his hand and threw it not too unkindly into his sack. "Damn it all," he muttered.

He'd made too many deals with too many devils. He had to wonder if it was worth it. He had to hope it was worth it. He'd killed too many people, sent too many to their deaths, and would be sending too many more to die for it not to be.

* * *

**Author's Note:** I do not own The Elder Scrolls series, Skyrim, Oblivion, Morrowind, Daggerfall, Arena, etc. Or anything. Seriously, I don't. No profit to be made here. If any is, twas not under my knowing and I would gladly punch him in the face for you, faceless and mysterious figurative lawyers.

So yeah, here's the prologue. Things will be explained. I'd be a very bad man to start off here and explain nothing. Long story short here, I'm basing this off of my character in Skyrim, Arenar Roscius, an Imperial Dragonborn. As such, most of this pertains to him and no one else. Since I am a lover of the Steam Workshop and have used several mods in my playthrough (lore-friendly and balanced, don't worry), one or two mentions of them will be made when appropriate. Sorry if you guys just want vanilla Skyrim stuff, but then again if you did, why are you on here and not playing the game?


	2. Chapter 1: A Soul For The Mighty Hunter

Ysolda hugged Arenar close to her, her head lying on his chest. "You did brilliantly today." He smiled softly at her in the darkness, his hands around her as well. "Good night, love."

"Good night, dear." It took a good ten minutes, but soon enough Ysolda was asleep and her breathing steadied. Arenar wished sleeping were that easy for him now. Far too many nightmares haunted his dreams now-a-days. A few good stamina potions were ingested every morning now, far away from the prying eyes of his wife and his cabal of bodyguards. They couldn't see him like this. It would ruin the war effort. It would trickle down into the ranks and demoralize the men.

Outside of his pitched tent, Arenar could hear the creaking of ballistae and catapults being moved into firing positions, the repeated thunderclaps of battalions moving to better stations, the rapid-fire hammering of nails and stakes to fortify the walls, and the moaning of the dead and dying. A year ago, Arenar would have called it a sad day to see (let alone hear) anyone in pain. Everything at Helgen changed that. He was just trying to cross the border, to get away from the roaming Thalmor Justiciars who were 'cleansing' (pillaging) the Cyrodiilic countryside of 'heretics' (anyone who breathed). He never was part of the army, never wanted to join, and thankfully it was over before he was forced into service.

That first time he picked up steel and defended himself against those two Stormcloaks in the crumbling Helgen keep… it was almost exhilarating. The closest thing he could compare it to was skooma: a very fast and quick drug with a great high but it left you feel empty when it was over.

When he first made it to Whiterun he joined the Companions, expecting he would find more than enough foes while part of the group, more than enough times to wet his blades with the blood of his enemies. When he was elevated to the Circle, to become a werewolf, it was a dream come true. Everyone that stood before him could easily be flayed. It was magical, seeing his claws swipe and cut into a steel cuirass as if it were a fresh sweet roll.

But then like an addict who had one horrible high, it all came crashing down when he went to Falkreath.

* * *

Arenar kept his head down and mouth shut. From what he could tell from the rumors around Whiterun, tensions were high between the two cities. Having just been announced as Thane, he had even better reason for keeping low. He was just passing through, on the way to Solitude to go to some Thalmor party, as good as that would do.

As he walked past two of the chatting locals, he stopped. Did they just say werewolf? "You two, what are you talking about? What werewolf?"

One of the women looked at him oddly. "Some bastard named Sinding mauled a girl to death so they locked him up."

"They should have damned well executed him," the other said.

Arenar nodded. He hadn't heard of a Sinding in the Companions but he'd seen enough of what persecution his kind faced in Silver Hand bases. The man needed to be saved, so long as he wasn't a murderer. He had seen far too many werewolf heads on pikes.

The Imperial made his way to the Falkreath barracks, almost surprised no one stopped him. Sinmir's observations about Whiterun's security applied most everywhere apparently. The jail was mostly empty, only a single guard patrolling, obviously bored. The only prisoner was in a circular chamber and water was filled in the bottom. Their eyes met and an unseen understanding passed between them: a brother in arms.

The two met at the gate. "You need to help me. I didn't want to murder the girl, I lost control." Arenar's memories flashed to his first time in Whiterun where he very brutally murdered Heimskr. The entire sequence had been like a dream and it took more than a few prods to Aela, Farkas, and Vilkas so he could remember it all.

"What do I have to do?"

Sinding held out his hand, showing off a strange and bestial looking ring. "This ring was supposed to help me in my transformations, but it doesn't work, it just makes them worse. I was going to appeal to Lord Hircine for help, but I was captured before I got the chance. You need to catch a large beast that stalks around this hold. If you take this ring and kill the beast for me, I will be eternally grateful."

Arenar took the ring and put it on his hand. "Good luck." In reply, the fellow werewolf only transformed, ripped the bars from his cage, and escaped. The door to the jail was closed behind Arenar before the guard could even mention it.

* * *

The arrow let loose with a twang and the great beast fell, the arrow sticking between its eyes. Arenar did expect something to happen. What he did not expect was that a ghost of the stag would materialize right in front of him.

"I've been watching you, young hunter, and you please me," the stag said. "I am Lord Hircine. You are fighting for that man Sinding, but he is liar and a thief. He stole the ring from me so I cursed it. It is his own undoing. As a fellow hunter, I ask that you join in on the hunt for him. He waits at Bloated Man's Grotto. You had better hurry, prey does not wait for its predator and there are many predators searching for him." The stag dissipated then as the last word was said.

Arenar stopped. Would it be worth helping Sinding and to go against Hircine? His mind drifted to Kodlak, and his fears of being sent to hunt for all eternity with the daedra. It would be unwise then to anger him if he should die before facing his own inner wolf in Ysgrammor's tomb…

* * *

His sword was pressed to the other's neck. Sinding looked up, his wolf eyes pleading. He was human, in full control this time. "Please…" he whispered. The blade plunged into the soft flesh, the biggest and only weakness to the form.

"Skin him," the voice of the daedra commanded. And so he set to work. As his hunting knife slid into his flesh, the fur shifted and molded, turning itself into a piece of armor. "You have done well, my champion."

Arenar stared into the face etched into the armor. That could easily have been him. His fur provided literally no protection against weapons. Even though he vowed to never again transform, his first deal was done.

* * *

**Author's Note:** Hey. This is sort of how my chapters are going to go for a while, stuck in flashback mode. We're leaving Imperial City (present day) for a while so we can lead up to what happened last chapter. Also, as I go over some of the in-game quests, I will not be using exact dialogue. I don't know how to get to it so I'll be add-libbing and doing the best I can to capture the character's personalities. I'm sorry if this bothers you guys.


	3. Chapter 2: A Very Bad Therapy Session

Arenar was lost. The Winking Skeever should have been something very easy to find, it was a tavern. There should be a drunk or two wandering around the city but the only beggar he could see was a veteran and a slimy looking Argonian with an evil look in his eyes. He wandered past an Altmer woman who quickly turned her nose up at him. "If you're going to the Blue Palace I certainly hope you are wearing better clothes."

"I'll look into it," he muttered. His wolf armor was fine. It was dinged and bent in a few places, but it had stopped more than a few deadly blows. As far as he was concerned, his skin was worth far more than a few spools of fabric.

He turned the corner by a temple and found himself in a housing district. This wasn't right. Not at all.

"You! You there!" Arenar's head turned and an odd, skinny looking, grimy man stood next to him. A just as grimy hip bone was in his hands. "Yes, you. You look like you can help me."

"What am I…"

"My Master has been on vacation for a few decades. He needs to come back to work! It's so horrible without him."

"Where can I…"

"In the Pelagius Wing of the Blue Palace. You need this to get in." The man handed the hip bone over. "Now please hurry." The man looked away and ran off back to the market district.

Arenar threw the bone into his satchel. If he was heading to the Blue Palace he might want some fine clothes to blend in while he was snooping around for whoever this master was and Delphine _was_ supposed to give him something more noble for the party tonight.

He ran back to the market and soon enough found the Skeever.

* * *

On reflection, Arenar should have had the forethought to realize that infiltrating a Thalmor party, murdering all of the guards that got in his way, letting Malborn and a prisoner escape, and taking more than a few documents from the embassy would have made security become much tighter around Solitude's Blue Palace.

He pushed his way through the door, only to be stopped by a guard. "Wait, I know you."

"No you don't…" Arenar walked past the guard and went to the Pelagius Wing, testing the door. Locked. Why was it always a locked door?

One of the maids walked by, looking at the man and his door. "Why are you trying to get in there? The Pelagius Wing is off limits."

"My friend said he was going to speak to Jarl Elisif. I haven't seen him anywhere so this is the only place left to look." Divines, that was a bad lie.

Still, she seemed convinced enough and opened the door. "Find him and get out, I'll be in a lot of trouble if either of you get caught."

He thanked her and entered the deserted wing. Cobwebs were everywhere and there were more than a few dusty skulls and broken wine bottles lying around. "Some vacation." Arenar turned around a corner once he went up a flight of stairs. Suddenly his head felt like it was split open.

A moment later, his eyes opened. The regalia from last night's party was replaced by a blue coat and the palace was replaced by a misty forest. Voices were coming up a head. "More tea, Pelly my dear?"

"What's the use of it?"

"You're being too hard on yourself, my dear, sweet homicidally insane Pelagius…" Arenar got closer to see a lavish feast with only two men, a depressed looking one in a simple stool, and a downright crazy one on a throne. "A good day to you sir, I say good day!" The depressed man disappeared in a flash of purple light and the crazed one looked straight at Arenar. "Now who are you?"

"I was sent to take you off your vacation?" Arenar said slowly. Whatever this man was, it couldn't end well.

"Do you even know who I am?"

"A madman?" Divines! He needed to learn to hold his tongue!

"Only half right. I am a mad god, THE Mad God. It's a family title, gets passed down from me to me every few thousand years. Now, do you know where we are? The mind of an Emperor, THE Emperor Pelagius III, and you are going to help me cheer this boy up. And how are we going to do that? Sure you can use your swords and sneaking, but I have a better idea! The WABBAJACK! Not expecting that one huh?"

"I wasn't expecting any of this."

"Thank you, thank you, I try."

A flash of purple light again and Arenar was on a lone and rocky path. A staff with four screaming faced looked at him. "Pelagius was a very paranoid man. He always thought a talking grapefruit from Passwall was out to get him," Sheogorath's voice boomed.

He went down the path, finding himself at an arena. Three men in Dwemer armor stared back, one holding his own Wabbajack. Beneath them were two fighting Atronachs, frosts. He had to defeat those three. Shouldn't be too hard.

Arenar shot a bolt of red into his atronach, smiling as it turned into a flame. The other replied immediately after, changing his as well. Stalemate. Again he shot his Wabbajack and so did the foe. And again and again and again.

At last, the Imperial couldn't take it. He aimed his Wabbajack at one of the Dwemer men and the two on either side of the Wabbajack wielder morphed into wolves and devoured the man alive.

"How is that supposed to make him less paranoid! Wolves devouring your flesh out of nowhere is pretty…!"

A bolt of purple light and Arenar was by Pelagius, sleeping on a bed.

"Now you're going to fix his sleep. From a young age, Pelagius was terrorized by night terrors. It's a very sad story. I once played it to him on the world's largest violin in the form of a song. He got all choked up. Thank me I learned the Heimlich!"

Arenar wagged his Wabbajack at Pelagius and a wolf sprang from nowhere at him. He shot another Wabbajack bolt and the wolf crashed into the bed as a goat.

"This will lead to more paranoia than anything else!"

"Can't you keep it down? I'm doing the fishstick! It's a very delicate state of mind!" Sheogorath replied.

"Damn it all." Again he shot at the man, reading another charge for whatever would spring out next. A bandit ran at the man, quickly to be turned into a little boy. Again he shot and out came a hagraven, only to be turned into a woman in skimpy clothing. Arenar lowered the Wabbajack and smiled. "Hey beautiful."

"I lost my wife," the woman said in a voice as deep and hard as a man.

Arenar stayed quiet for a moment, taking it in. "I should have expected that."

"Fishstick!" boomed Sheogorath.

"I get it!"

Boom, another shot. This time came a flame atronach. The Wabbjack made her into a bonfire. Last was a Dragon Priest, wielding his staff high. Before the monster could speak he was transformed into a large chest.

"Ah. Now that was a refreshing session of fishsticking. What did I miss?" A purple flash and Arenar was before two Pelagiuses, one large and one small, pummeling each other. "He has very bad self-confidence issues."

"No witty remarks?"

"I am a Mad God, man! I am not a monster! Tasteful jokes here!" Arenar raised his Wabbajack to strike the large one. "He was afraid of his mother like she wielded a cleaver… no wait, that's not how that one goes." The shot let loose and the two were made the same size. Two ghostly Pelagiuses appeared to join the fray. He let off another shot at the originally small one. Another flash of light and Arenar was at the banquet hall again.

"Now our dear insane Pelagius is still, well, not better. But we tried anyway! And that's all that matters! I'm off to the Shivering Isles! Vacation and job is over. You can keep the Wabbajack. Put it to some good use."

Arenar looked down at the weapon. "I don't know what it's used for?"

The Daedric Prince ignored him. "Now if you ever find yourself in New Sheoth, come over for a drink. We can have a strawberry torte! " With a laugh and another flash of light, Arenar was back in the Pelagius Wing of the Blue Palace.

Quietly he stowed away the Wabbajack and walked out of the palace toward the Winking Skeever. He needed a drink. Or twenty.

* * *

**Author's Note:** What the hell did I just write?


	4. Chapter 3: The Drunken Huntsman

The Winking Skeever was a fine enough place to get drunk. People didn't bother you, mead was as inexpensive as it was everywhere else, and the bard had a nice enough voice and a better body. Even before Arenar ordered his first flagon he was already mentally undressing her. Then his mind shot back to the sultry woman in Pelagius's head with the man's husky voice. He shivered and turned to the barkeep.

"Say, friend?" Arenar looked up. A man was sitting down next to him, flagon in hand. "Sorry to bother you, but I've been looking for someone man enough for a drinking contest. Are you in? Winner gets a nice magical staff."

"I already have a uh, staff." Arenar could scarcely call the Wabbajack nice.

The man smiled. "Well, well, well. I guess we aren't man enough then."

"Now hold on a minute." Arenar took his drink and grinned. "You're on."

The man took his own flagon. "The name is Sam. First to faint loses. First one." He took a long and hard swig, slamming his flagon down onto the bar.

"I can beat that." He brought his own flagon to his lips and slammed it down, smiling as the barkeep filled his back up. He might not be a Nord, but he sure could hold his drink.

The rest of the Skeever looked up and crowded around them, intent to see who would win this impromptu competition. Sam took this all in stride and forced down his second drink. "Oh. That went down wrong." Arenar took his and chugged it, slamming it down in retaliation. His head felt a little warm, but it was nothing. He could hold his liquor.

"Say, Arenar, I'm done. I can't stomach anymore. You take this last one and you win the staff. Fair and square."

Arenar coughed and grinned, his lips taunt but very loose. "Got ya. That's essay." He brought the lip of the flagon to his and drank quickly and sluggishly, mead falling off of his chin. He slammed it down. "I win?"

"Yes, yes you do. You win my staff. You know, we should do this again. I know a great place where the drink just rolls into your tongue… Are you ok Arenar? You don't look so good, my friend."

The Imperial's eyes closed and he rolled off of his stool, mumbling about manly and beautiful bards.

* * *

His eyes opened again after what felt like decades and his ears rang like a dragon was Shouting into his it. It took him a second to realize it was a priestess shouting instead. "…You drunken blasphemer! Are you listening to me! Clean your mess up!"

"By the Eight, what the hell happened?"

"You came in here asking for some staff and when we said we didn't have one you threw trash everywhere! Now get to it!" With a kick, the priestess made the man pick up everything. In all it was a few bottles of wine, a hagraven feather, a giant's toe, and an odd looking note saying all of the things he picked up were needed to fix some staff?

Arenar's eyes widened. "The contest!"

The priest kicked him again. "Forget your contest! Get out of Lady Dibella's temple you blasphemer!"

Arenar sighed and left, pocketing the note. This Sam character would be long gone by now, there probably never was a staff in the first place. The road back to Riverwood and Delphine was going to be very long and very painful.

* * *

Rorikstead was a quaint little village in the middle of nowhere as far as Arenar was concerned. It seemed to exist for no other reason than to flesh out Whiterun Hold's land. He was just about to pass the last farm on his way out when a farmer ran at him wielding a hoe. "You! You stole my goat!"

"I didn't steal a goat," Arenar muttered.

"Yes you did! You stole my prized Gleda last night and sold her to a giant! I will never grow another prize winning goat again!"

Arenar pointed to his swords. "I'll go find the giant alright? But I never sold your damn goat." Before the farmer could yell more the Imperial left the village to find the giant. They never moved too fast so he couldn't have gone too far. And sure enough, a few hills away were a goat and a giant.

The giant looked up at Arenar and raised his club in a sign of thanks and petted the goat tenderly. "Ok, maybe I did steal a goat." Arenar cleared his throat. "Mr. Giant, there's a big misunderstanding, I need that goat back." The giant stomped the ground and pointed his club at him. "Damn it all. FUS RO DAH!" The giant and Gleda were sent tumbling back.

Unsheathing his sword, Arenar ran toward the giant swinging. He got in three good slashes with his twin blades before the giant rose again, picking up his club. "FUS RO!" The giant stumbled letting in a few more good hits. Several more and the giant fell, leaving Gleda to look stupidly at Arenar.

He sheathed his blades and smiled gently. "Come on you dumb little goat." The little animal bleated and joined Arenar on the short trip back to the farm. The farmer ran to his goat and hugged it. "Thank you!" he said, forgetting the fact that Arenar caused the whole mess to begin with.

Arenar sighed. What else had he done last night? "Hey, did you hear me talking about anywhere else I'd been last night?"

The man looked up. "Why yes. Something about a Ysolda and a marriage in Whiterun." Without saying a word, Arenar walked toward the city. For some reason being told he was marrying a girl he hardly spoke to didn't surprise him at all. It wasn't that she was an ugly woman (she certainly seemed nice), but compared to the fact he befriended and odd drunk man from the East Empire Company two nights ago, walked around in the mind of a dead and insane emperor, communed with the Daedric Prince of Maddness, received a queer staff (not to mention he had no idea what it did) from said Prince, trashed a temple of Dibella, stole a goat and then sold a goat…

Nine Divines! That Sam character was in for a beating if he didn't have that staff when Arenar finally found him.

* * *

Ysolda was in her usual spot in the marketplace, looking at the wares of the stands and buying food from Carlotta while ignoring Nazeem as best she could. Then again, everyone ignored Nazeem.

Arenar walked up to her, smiling as best he could to his new wife. This was going to be a very awkward conversation. "Hi, Ysolda?"

The woman turned and smiled at her the call of her name. Her face seemed to catch the sun just right and her eye shadow looked particularly nice today. This impromptu marriage might not be that bad after all.

"Oh! Hello again, Arenar. How was your wedding?"

Now this certainly stumped him. "Uh, don't you mean our?"

"No. Last night you came by with a lovely young woman and you wanted to be married so you asked to buy a wedding ring from me. And you owe me for that still…"

"Wait. I'm not married to you?"

She giggled. "No. You were very drunk, so I can see why you're confused."

Never in his life had Arenar ever been happier that a helm was covering his head and concealing his blushing cheeks. "Who was I marrying, exactly?"

"A woman named Moira. She said she lives in Witchmist Grove."

"I'll go get that ring back." Again, Ysolda laughed. A knowing laugh, as if there was some secret she was keeping from him. This could only end well…

The long trip to Witchmist Grove was a painful one. There had been two (two!) dragons, at least five bands of bandits, and one annoyed troll on the way there. He had run out of healing and stamina potions so now he was limping along with the Wabbajack as an impromptu walking stick.

* * *

But he was here now. He was finally at Witchmist Grove. He was going to meet his wife and somehow tell her the marriage was off. Maybe if she was nice, like Ysolda said, he could just marry her and figure it all out later.

He stepped up to the little shack and the door opened and slammed shut. An ugly crone with raven feathers and talons for legs sauntered out, a seductive grin on her face. Her outfit was a skimpy black bikini and far too revealing thong. "Helllllloooooo honey. I've been waiting for you to return so we can consummate our marriage."

Without saying anything, Arenar shot off a bolt of the Wabbajack at the hagraven. He was not going to marry that thing! The red bolt hit her and suddenly there was no more hagraven. Intrigued, Arenar moved closer, only to find a sweet roll with its glazing in the shape of a thong. "Of course it'd be a sweet roll ray."

Arenar scooped up the sweet roll and bit in, finding it to actually taste fairly good. Then he realized he was literally 'eating her out'. He cocked his arm back and threw the sweet roll into the trees. Inside the hut he found two wedding rings and a store of other loot, including a mammoth tusk. He was already carrying over five hundred pounds in dragon bones and bandit loot, some more wouldn't kill him (hopefully).

* * *

He lugged everything back to Breezehome and dropped everything at the front door. Lydia looked up at him and raised an eyebrow. "What have you been doing?"

"It's a very long and wonderful story involving mad Emperors, Thalmor parties, and an asshole with some staff." Arenar kicked his loot off to the side. "Be a dear and stow that away somewhere. Please."

"I am sworn to carry your burdens," she groaned.

"That's the spirit." Arenar picked the two wedding rings and held them in his palm as he walked towards Ysolda's house. At least he thought it was Ysolda's house. He knocked and waited.

"Just a minute!" he heard her call. The lock on the door clinked and Ysolda opened the door. She was wearing only a short dress, obviously made more for comfort than show. She blushed and covered up her top a little better with her hands. "Sorry."

Arenar shook his head and held out the rings. "Don't worry about it. Turns out the marriage is off."

She grinned and took the rings. "I was wondering why a man would marry a hagraven."

"You said she was nice."

"I was being polite."

The two laughed and their eyes met. Ysolda took one of the rings and blushed. "You can keep the other one. Give it to a nicer girl. Something tells me she'd be lucky, if you aren't drunk that is."

Arenar smiled and put the ring in his pocket. "I'll keep it in mind then. I'll also stay away from the mead for a while. I'm starting to see a very bad pattern."

The two shared a laugh again. "Are you still looking for that staff?" she asked.

"Staff?"

"Yes, you were taking about a staff last night to Moira as you were buying the rings."

Arenar laughed slightly. "Honestly, with everything that's been going on, I forgot all about that. Thanks. Did I say where it would be?"

"I think you said Morvunskar."

Instinctively, Arenar pulled out his map. "And that would be… on the other side of Skyrim. .. Which I just walked to... That sort of figures."

She smiled and stepped aside. "You're welcome to spend the night. I just started working on dinner." The aroma's wafting out were more than enough reason to step on in.

"I think I have to take you up on that offer." They went in, taking spots opposite each other on the cooking fire.

They stayed quiet for a short bit, watching Ysolda twirl a spoon in a stew. "So you're a Companion?" she pointed to the wolf armor with her opposite hand.

"The Harbinger actually." She nodded, obviously impressed.

"You know, I only saw you around here starting a few weeks ago." She laughed softly. "You must have a pretty good sword arm to rise up in the ranks that quickly."

"No, no, it's nothing like that. I just was a good friend to Kodlak. I saved his life and he announced me as his successor, nothing too big." It was a half-lie, the afterlife was like life, right?

"Still, to save the old leader is something. You'd think he wouldn't need it." She stared a little at his face and then her eyes widened. "And you're that Dragonborn I've heard the guards talk about!"

"Oh yeah. And there is that..."

"One was saying how you killed that one dragon with just one blow!" she started.

"It wasn't like that at all…"

Ysolda ignored him, excitement in her voice. "And then when you killed it you absorbed its power!" That much at least was indisputable.

Arenar nodded, a little blush on his cheeks. "I did what I had to do. I knew I was Dragonborn just as well as anyone else before then. It's hard, but it if I can do it I'll do it." Ysolda smiled at that and poured him a bowl of soup.

"If you ever need someplace to stay and a warm meal and a cozy bed, don't hesitate to stop by. It's really the least I could do."

The man could only smile as he drank his soup, taking the helm from his head so he could eat better. They ate in silence, moving a bit closer to each other as dinner went on. Once they were done, it was Arenar's time to speak. "So why do you spend so much time in the market?"

"It's nothing; I just want to own the Bannered Mare. I buy in the market and sell to the Khajiit traders." She pointed to a small urn, only to shake it. A few coins rattled about inside. "I'll get there some day. If I had something bigger like a mammoth's tusk I might be able to get enough gold to start on a payment but I'm no hunter. Giants and mammoths and dragons aren't as easy to kill for the rest of us," she joked.

Arenar's eyes widened and he smiled. "I'll be right back. I think I have something you might want." And he stood, taking his helm in hand as he ran out the door and back to Breezehome. A moment later he returned, tusk under his arm. "Is this what you're looking for?"

All at once Ysolda's face brightened and she jumped up to hug him. Arenar dropped the tusk and hugged back.

* * *

The next morning with a small breakfast (courtesy of Ysolda), Arenar was on the road again. He ran past the gate, restocked completely on potions and a sack full of money from selling all the spare pieces of armor and weapons to Adrianne, Ulfberth, Elrindir, and Belethor. He passed by the Whiterun stables and looked at the stable-master for a moment. "Are any of these horses for sale?"

The man looked almost surprised. "Yeah. Her name's Queen Alfsigr. What will you offer?"

"One thousand septims?" The man smiled and motioned for a hand to bring out the horse.

"You're his now, Allie." Arenar nodded and hopped on, riding off toward Morvunskar.

He reached the little fort by nightfall. Peering out from behind a bush he grimaced. "Mages. Fun." He pulled out a mostly unused bow and shot at one of them, magically landing a shot between her eyes. Almost at once the fort was on high alert, mages running to and fro and atronachs being summoned to man the walls.

And then suddenly, the call of a dragon hit all of their ears as it came swooping in on a pass at the fort.

As the atronachs and their masters turned their eyes to the skies, Arenar let off more arrows, wounding and killing most until it was just him and the dragon.

"Thanks, but it's your turn now!" Arenar pulled out his two blades and ran at the dragon that had just landed in the courtyard.

"YOL…" Arenar cut him off with a clean swipe to the face, making the dragon shudder. Enraged, it turned back "TOOR SHUL!" Fire raced across the wolf armor, seeping into the metal and onto his skin. They fought savagely, the dragon using its bestial might and Arenar using the skills he learned from fighting bandit, draugr, and trained mercenary. Then Arenar struck a lucky blow to the dragon's neck, cutting it more than deep enough. Arenar pushed into the weakened opening, killing the dragon.

He pulled out his potions as the dragon's skin burned up and flickered. That bow was harder to pull back than it looked and a bit of that fire had chewed through the armor. Eorlund was not going to be happy. It looked to him like he'd need to go hunting with Aela again, and not as wolves this time. He wouldn't be this lucky all the time and he'd need a way to take out the mages before they could spot him.

Still, what's done was done. As he absorbed the soul he walked into the fort. A flash of purple light hit him and he was in a murky and forested grove. "Sheogorath!" Arenar muttered, drawing his swords. "Just when I thought this whole staff thing was over with he has to step in again!"

He wandered down the lantern-lit trails until he was at a large feasting table. Sheogorath however, was nowhere to be found. Instead, Sam was watching the festivities, cup in hand. "Oh hey, glad you could make it. Sorry about those mages, that's why I called for that dragon. Me and him go way back."

"You promised a staff?"

Sam looked hurt. "You go through all of that and that's the first thing you say to me, to your friend Sanguine?" Before Arenar could reply, Sam disappeared, only to be replaced by a daedra in full armor. "You don't look impressed."

Arenar nodded and crossed his arms. "I've had a long three days. You aren't the craziest thing I've met." That 'honor' went to Sheogorath. "And I'm really annoyed at this little prank."

"Little prank! Little prank! My friend, the Daedric Lord of Debauchery and Hedonism does not dawdle in mere pranks! I was simple spreading merriment, with you as my tool! Come on now! Look, take the staff and spread happiness with it. You can put it to better use than I can, I guess."

And then the Daedra handed over an odd, rose-like staff before another flash of purple light sent Arenar back to the Winking Skeever. The bard stopped midsong and everyone turned to look at him. "Hi guys…"

* * *

**Author's Note:** Good god... I'm going to give myself carpal tunnel at this rate... Also this will probably be the last happy chapter for a while. The rest of the game tends to be not so happy and cheerful. Here's to you Namira...


	5. Chapter 4: A Den of Rats In The Ratways

Allie whinnied angrily at Arenar as the reigned her into the Whiterun stables. "Calm down, will you?" The Imperial reached into his pocket and threw a few septims to a stable-hand. "Feed her, give her water. If you brush her and take exceptionally good care of her you'll get something nice in addition to these." The boy grinned and ran to do as Arenar asked.

And so the Dragonborn made the short hike up to Breezehome. "Hey, Lydia," he said idly as he walked up to his bedroom to begin sorting through his loot.

"Honored, my thane," she replied back. As always it was with the best face she could put on. She had good reason to be annoyed. There really was little to do in Whiterun as a housecarl left home to house-sit. Arenar couldn't help it though. He couldn't have smuggled another person into the Thalmor Embassy and after what had happened on the way to High Hrothgar, he certainly was not in the mood to drag her along again.

* * *

Arenar slashed wildly at the frost troll. While draugr, bandits, and skeevers tended to die with a sword cutting into their throats, it only made the troll angrier. "LYDIA! HELP DAMN IT!"The beast swiped its claws, knocking Arenar's sword away into a snowbank. "FUCKING HELP!"

Lydia's calm demeanor was gone. Behind her was a large sacked filled with helmets and swords and smithing supplies Arenar would 'sell eventually'. "Maybe if you stopped giving me everything I could help you faster!"

"FUS!" The troll didn't even flinch. "DIDN'T I GIVE YOU A SCROLL OF FIREBALL?"

"I am not good with spells!"

The troll snarled and swiped at Arenar, catching him in the side while leaving a gaping wound. "DOES IT LOOK LIKE I CARE?" He fumbled into his sack, pulling out a Potion of Minor Healing. The magical liquid hardly stopped his blood loss.

Lydia pulled out the scroll and pointed it at the troll, reading off it quickly. Suddenly a burst of fire flew from the scroll, hitting the ground between Arenar and the troll. Arenar swiped at his armor, trying to knock the fire off. "YOUR AIM IS HORRIBLE!"

* * *

Arenar handled the documents from the Embassy with care. In his mad rush to find what he was looking for and then get out he never took a good look at any of them. He cracked open the first one, a dossier on Delphine. The entire document didn't say much, it just proved he had reason to fear and mistrust the woman (not that he didn't already). She knew too much about too many things. Those types were always dangerous. The next was on some man named Esbern. Whoever he was, it sounded like Delphine and him were good buddies.

The last was on Ulfric Stormcloak. Arenar couldn't make heads or tails of the man. They had met at Helgen and he certainly didn't seem like a madman like so many had said. That said, there was something wrong to have such a hatred for the Empire just for a god's worship. It wasn't like the Empire hadn't been trying to fight back. A united front against the Dominion was more important than squabbling over Talos's divinity. He could still be prayed to; it wasn't like it was hidden that well in most cities. Still, he cracked it open, peering over its contents. He was labeled as an asset. A dormant asset. Dormant things could always be reactivated. Arenar shut the book and tossed it aside. That all sort of figured. As right as Ulfric thought he was, he was going about this all the wrong way.

What worried him most about all of this was that they kept referring to the Great War as the First War. Once this dragon thing was over with, Arenar would have to do a long bit of thinking.

* * *

He set off the next morning, making a quick stop in each of the market places. Arenar bought a few pounds of salted meat at Anoriath's shack for the short trip to Riverwood. Ysolda silently came up beside Arenar, looking at the meat. "That's a lot. Are you heading out of town?" she asked, a twinge of sadness in her voice.

"Yeah. There are still a lot of things a friend needs me to do, not the one that got me drunk though." Arenar put away the food and turned to her. "As soon as I'm free I'll come back and we can sit around and chat some more. I promise."

A small smile grew on her face. "I'd like that."

And with that, the two parted silently but oddly content. Arenar made a little run to the stables and found the boy from last night brushing Allie's coat. He pulled out a flawless amethyst he found a bandit holding and handed it to the boy. "Here's your extra. Don't spend it all in one place." Allie whinnied as Arenar climbed on. "Get over it, I bought you to do work, not sit home and get fat." With a quick smile and wave, Arenar and Allie were off to Riverwood and to whatever request that Delphine woman had now.

* * *

Riften was a very poor city. Even the guards were trying to shill him for a few septims. To be honest, Arenar just wanted to find this Esbern and get the hell out. Climbing down the city near an orphanage, Arenar entered the so-called 'Ratways'.

If it could be imagined, it was even dungier down here. The smell of piss and skeever permeated the entire underground tunnels. Getting out of the Ratways wasn't a difficult task, just long and annoying. Skeevers, some mercenaries, and even a strange man who only used his fists were around every corner. It all ended though at a single door. Arenar opened it cautiously, expecting more skeevers to jump out at him.

Instead, all he saw was a dingy and rundown bar manned by about five men all wearing similar outfits. All the eyes and the room turned to him. "You invite this one, Bryn?" a man asked.

"No. But whoever he is, he must have some style to get down here in one piece." Bryn took a few steps toward Arenar, blocking his entrance into the bar. "Now who might you be, lad?"

"Arenar," he said, his eyes glancing at everyone else in the room. Their hands were at their daggers. Instinctively he put his hand on his swords.

"Now we're all friends here!" Bryn said, turning his head to look at everyone else. Everyone's hand dropped, except for a mean-looking blonde. "We are all friends, Vex." Her hand left. "Good. Now, you look like a man who likes coin. Am I right, lad?"

"I don't want any part of some con."

The man laughed at this and pointed to a chair. "We're the Thieves' Guild, lad. Cons aren't our business, just coin."

Arenar glanced at all of them. "That's even less reason to associate with you."

Bryn took a spot opposite the chair he pointed to. "You're the one that searched out for us, lad. Beggars can't be choosers."

"I'm just looking for a man named Esbern."

The bartender's ear perked up at that one. "He's hiding in the Warrens. Crazy coot was talking about dragons and shouting."

"Now wait right here," a bald man said. "This entire part of Riften belongs to the Guild. We let this guy walk through and we'll have to let everyone in. Things are bad, Bryn, let's not make it worse."

Bryn nodded, putting a hand to his chin. "You make a good point, Dex. I know, we could set him on that Goldenglow job."

The woman let out a harsh laugh. "Come on, if I couldn't make it what makes you think this brat will?"

"Hey, this kid has promise. He got down here in one piece and I even saw him catch a guard make an attempt on his coin. This kid has some potential and we need that." Bryn turned to Arenar and handed him a little map of what he had to assume was Goldenglow. "You do this for us and you can find this dragon man for as long as you want."

"And if I don't?"

A cold steel pressed against Arenar's neck. His eyes glanced to where the bald man was and it was replaced by an empty chair. "I worked with the Dark Brotherhood, kid. You don't help us, well; I shouldn't need to explain what happens next."

"I understand." The knife drew away and Arenar breathed, not realizing he held his breath.

Bryn smiled and pushed forward the map. "So, now on to your little job. We need to send a message to a former associate, an Altmer named Aringoth. He's stopped working with us. That was a very bad move."

"So what am I supposed to do then?" Arenar crossed his arms, staring at the map.

"Burn three of his hives. We want production halted, not ruined. Then go inside and get anything you can from Aringoth's safe. We want him left alive, understand? Anyone else is fair game."

Arenar took the map and threw it in his sack. "I'll be back."

As he walked out he couldn't help but feel he made a very bad decision with a very bad group of people.

* * *

**Author's Note: **Poor, poor, Arenar. This is nothing like how it goes on in the game. I feel so sad for him. (Not really.)


	6. Chapter 5: That's Not How Stealth Works

Arenar found Goldenglow later in the evening just as they changed the guard. Those outside pulled out their torches and either patrolled or sat in place. He observed, starting to realize the network of patrols they had. Two followed near the beehives, four manned the front gate, two more sat on small and upraised platforms on the grounds, three paced about the estate in regular intervals, and two more sat in front of the main door (obviously drunk).

Sneaking in would be impossible unless he wanted to run in naked, his armor made far too much noise. The problem was he certainly didn't trust that he'd remain unnoticed long enough to do what he needed to do. He could rush in, swords swinging, but that would just get him killed. He was completely outnumbered here and these men had the trained look of veteran soldiers unlike the bandits he routinely fought.

Seeing no other choice, Arenar grabbed his bow and sat along the bridge. He'd take out the men at the beehives first. That would make enough of a distraction to rush in through the gate unnoticed and then the house. It was crazy, but it might work.

He pulled the bow back, aiming for the light of a torch. He shot and watched the arrow. By the dim light the torch gave off he watched it land into the guard's shoulder stumbling him slightly. "Intruder!" he called, dropping his torch to brandish a war axe. The entire estate became alive with a clatter of steel. Three mercenaries bounded down the bridge while the fourth stood on post, the two at the beehives hooked up and were obviously tending the wound, the rest patrolling scanned the area.

"There goes subtlety," Arenar muttered, dropping the bow for a pair of Orcish swords he bought from a merchant named Balimund. "WULD!"

The three mercenaries almost dropped their weapons at the sight of the man rushing at them from the darkness. The first and closest was more scared than most. Fear was etched on his face as the orichalcum metal slashed through his hide armor.

The other two however, quickly regained their composure; an Orc was the first to fight back. He and Arenar traded blows, blocking and sidestepping in an intricate dance. "FUS!" The blast of air dampened the light on the two mercenaries' torches, plunging the bridge into darkness.

"Where did he go!" the third cried. Arenar brought his blades around quickly and knocked the Orc off the bridge, ready to deal with him later. The unsuspecting mercenary didn't see the blades as they cut through the weak points in his armor. He bounded over the bridge, landing in the water next to the Orc. The mer thrashed, trying to stand up in the murk with his heavy armor weighing him down. The blow to kill him was quick and more out of mercy than anger.

Meanwhile back at the estate, the mercenaries ran to the front gate, having seen and heard Arenar's scuffle. "Whoever it is has the Voice!" one cried, obviously superstitious. "We need to get out of here!"

"It's one of him against the seven of us," another said, throat raspy and gruff.

"You heard him!"

Arenar climbed over to the gate, careful not to be noticed.

"It doesn't matter if he is a damn Greybeard! We don't double back on our jobs!"

"Even if it will get yourself killed!"

"Sovngarde awaits those who die an honorable death, coward."

The Imperial climbed up to the tower on the gate, pulling out his bow again. He couldn't see which ones were arguing specifically, but he could still hit one or two.

"I'd rather die when I have a chance to fight back!"

Arenar pulled back on his bow and let loose an arrow, hitting one of them in the knee. The man cried out and fell to the ground, unable to walk or move. One in the middle, the leader, pointed to the tower. "There he is! Victory or Sovngarde!" Five of them ran forward, the unsure one lagging behind.

"FUS RO DAH!" Arenar Shouted as they got nearer. All of them except the leader were sent tumbling backwards. The leader stumbled and swung his greatsword. The tip of the blade caught the shoulder pad of Arenar's armor, leaving a large gash and a bruise in the shoulder. His other sword came to meet the great sword, trying its best to stop the other. The leader knocked the blade away and kicked Arenar in the gut and then pushed him away with the pommel of the sword.

The rest got back up, watching the battle with confidence that their man would win. "Get him!" "Yeah, get that Shouting bastard!"

Arenar stumbled back, getting as much distance to the man as he could. "Had enough, boy?" the man said icily. The second Orcish sword dropped and his hand flashed with yellow healing magic. It was a spell he wasn't proficient in but it would have to do. He tore off the shoulder pads, shrugging his shoulders to make sure they worked. There was a searing pain in the one that was hit but it was well enough to use. His hand scooped down and picked up the second sword.

"No, just getting started…" Arenar ran forward, twirling about with his blades. The greatsword swung to block the one but the second strike hit the man in the side and the third caught him off guard. "FUS RO!" He stumbled now, his footing caught off. More rapid slashes hit the man's hardened armor now, more strikes to break through.

The leader looked up, the torchlight illuminating his face. His eyes were dark and almost feral. "You shouldn't have done that…" He cast aside his greatsword and his entire body convulsed and grew, his armor snapping off. Great black fur covered his body and his form shifted into a bestial monstrosity. He howled, catching Arenar completely off guard. Since when was everyone becoming a werewolf!

The wolf rushed forward, claws knocking away Arenar's blades. More rapid strikes and the breast plate of his armor was useless. "FUS RO DAH!" The wolf stumbled back, his claws at his ears.

"STOP IT!" he howled, blood pouring out of his sensitive and ruptured earlobes.

Tossing away his breast plate, Arenar leveled his sword straight for the wolf's chest. "WULD!" Like a flash of lightning, Arenar and his blade slammed forward, the tip sticking out through the beast's chest.

The leader roared and fell off the blade, limp and as dead as they come. The entire estate was silent, not even the frogs or birds dared speak.

Quietly, Arenar turned to face the rest, his chest bloody and heaving, his swords streaked with their leader's entrails. "Who is next?" he said quietly, the silence boosting its weight.

The rest backed up, hands raised. "Now… now… I didn't want to fight you!" one cried.

"And you won't. You're going to let me do what I want and then I am going to leave… understood?" The men nodded and Arenar walked towards the beehives, trying to look as strong as he could. He picked up a torch and swung it at three of the five hives.

More mercenaries and a very annoyed looking Altmer ran into the grounds. "What is going on here!" he was yelling, pointing straight at Arenar. Murmurs broke up amongst all of them.

"WULD!" Arenar flashed in front of the elf. "I am from the Thieves' Guild. You made a very bad decision, Aringoth."

* * *

Arenar walked into the Ragged Flagon, holding a bill of sale. His armor was in a knapsack, all he wore now was some Orcish armor from Balimund. It felt heavy and odd on his skin. "Here," he said, pushing it toward Brynjolf.

Everyone in the Flagon stared at him and then at the note. Brynjolf, however, kept his cool. "Now I told you all he was Guild material. Tonilia, let's get him set up with some armor…"

"Keep it."

At this, Brynjolf laughed and not too happily. "You're going to take the armor, lad. You're one of us now. That's how this works."

"I only did what you want because I want to find Esbern. I am not part of you."

Brynjolf frowned but then smiled again. "Have it your way then, lad. I trust though, you'll see the light soon enough. We have benefits here in Riften. We'll have that armor for you if you ever want to see what it's really like down here."

Arenar walked past him and into the door that led to the Ratway Vaults. He didn't have time for this nonsense. He was the Harbinger of the Companions, an honorable title of an honorable force. He was not and never would be a thief.

* * *

**Author's Note:** And now we get to skip even more of the boring old Main Quest. :D


	7. Chapter 6: Mara's Blessings Upon You

Arenar pulled his hood a little further up on his head. Esbern was safe now. Arenar had seen him get on Allie and he'd instructed him to go to Riverwood. The man could summon atronachs and he was paranoid, he'd certainly be fine as long as he stuck to Stormcloak-controlled roads.

Arenar had seen fit to hang back in Riften. It was almost refreshing to be in a city in such decay. Whiterun was too pristine, too perfect, everyone knew him there. He was a nobody here. No one asked him favors or bothered him. Everyone kept to themselves. The only problem was… what was the only problem?

There was no Ysolda, he realized at last. She was quiet, but a nice woman. She loved that he was the Dragonborn but Arenar knew that she saw more than that. If she didn't there was no way they would have been able to actually talk to each other several nights ago.

He wandered into the little market circle. An Argonian who was calling out prices for his jewelry caught his ear. His eyes glanced onto his market stand and the Argonian growled for a moment. "Back away thief, you're very bad at it."

He held up his hands, showing his empty palms. "I'm just looking is all, sorry."

The Argonian nodded slowly. "One cannot be too careful in Riften. What are you interested in?" Arenar stared long and hard at the wares, honestly not knowing where to start. "You don't buy jewelry much, do you?"

"No…"

The Argonian smiled and pulled out a box and picked out some pieces. "Who then are you buying this for? A friend, a lover, a spouse?"

"Uh…" A blush grew on his face.

"Secret lover it is then. Say no more…"

"No, no, we're not like that."

"It is perfectly natural. I get these sort of customers often."

"No, we're friends. I would like to be more though."

The shopkeeper grinned. "Ah. I see. What race is she then?"

"Nord."

The lizard pointed to his right. "Then you are at the wrong place, my friend. Nords have this custom of starting a marriage when one is wearing an Amulet of Mara. I prefer the Argonian one myself, craft the ring on your own and present it to your future mate. It is far more personal that way."

Arenar laid several coins on the counter, smiling gently. "Thank you."

"Your patronage is welcome, Imperial."

The Dragonborn turned to the Temple and entered, taking in the smell of the musty incense. A man sat at the shrine and rose, turning to face Arenar. "Mara smiles upon you, traveler."

"I was told I need to speak to someone here about marriage?"

The priest nodded and pulled an amulet from the shrine. "Simply speak to your soul mate with this around your neck. She will accept and you come here to be bound together by Mara's graces." Arenar reached for the amulet. "But I must ask 100 septims for it. The materials to make these are not cheap you see." With a grumble Arenar handed over the coins. "Very well, traveler. I hope to see you soon. Mara's blessings upon you."

And so Arenar left the temple... only to walk straight into a broad man's chest. "Sorry," Arenar said quickly. Two large hands grabbed him by the shoulders. "What is this!"

The man looked down and snarled. "Maven Black-Briar wishes to speak to you."

"Who the hell is Maven Black-Briar?" A meaty fist came sliding into Arenar's chest. "Gah…"

"Maven Black-Briar wishes to speak to you."

"I got that… Ah!" Another fist. "Fine! Where is she?"

The man picked up Arenar and shoved him down the steps of the temple, pointing to the Bee and Barb. The muscle shadowed Arenar until he entered the inn and found a woman sitting at a table upstairs.

"Leave us, Hrongar," she said. The man nodded and left. "So, you're this Arenar Roscius I've been hearing so much about."

"How do you know my…?"

She slammed down several scrolls on the table. "Let's see: Harbinger of the Companions, one of two survivors from Helgen, slayer of multiple dragons, saboteur of a Thalmor party, Thane of Whiterun, and prone to drunken rampages across Skyrim. Oh yes, and capable of Shouting. Have I missed anything at all? You are very bad at covering your tracks."

"Who said I was covering them?"

Her eyes narrowed. "Anyone who trashes a Thalmor Embassy and doesn't cover their tracks is a fool. I've read your file. You aren't a fool. What are you doing here?"

"Nothing."

"You did the job the Thieves' Guild was assigned to do. Mercer has no recollection of who you are. You are infringing on my territory!"

"I only did that because Brynjolf forced me to do that if I wanted to find a friend of mine here in this city. I am not part of the Guild, nor do I ever want to be."

Maven grinned without any mirth. "Good, I was worried I would I need to coax you out of someone's pockets."

Arenar's eyes narrowed. "What do you mean?"

"Look, I know what you can do. Your talents are being wasted in Whiterun for that Jarl and for whoever set you up with the Thalmor party. I have need of talented men working for me. The Guild is weak, they cannot control their own any more. Only the strong survive, and they are weak."

"If you're in league with the Guild that is less reason to help. "

"Look, I have a job for you in Whiterun. If you ever want to make some coin and be able to walk into any Hold and do as you will with no repercussions with any guards or authority, come speak to my man. He'll be in Bannered Mare."

Arenar glared at the woman before standing up. "Find someone else to do your dirty work."

"We'll keep in touch then."

Arenar never left a city faster in his life.

* * *

Several days later, Arenar returned to Breezehome. Esbern and Delphine could wait a day or two more. He placed the amulet on his neck and he walked through the marketplace slowly.

His stomach was doing summersaults. Was this right? Was she the one? What if she said no? He only knew her for a few days! How was she The One? This was stupid, love didn't work like this! It wasn't this fast _or_ brought together by a Daedra!

…Wasn't it?

Arenar found her outside the Bannered Mare, eating a piece of bread. Her face looked up and their eyes met. A dumb smile found its way to both of their faces. Ysolda averted her gaze first, noticing the red of the amulet. Her entire head looked down and a blush grew on her face.

Arenar sat down next to her and she looked up at last. "The amulet…"

"Yes," he said quietly. He held out his hand and revealed the ring she had given back to him so many nights ago.

"Why me?" she said, almost inaudible. "You're the Dragonborn. You could pick anyone, but here you are."

"You took the time to see me as more than that."

Slowly and tenderly, Ysolda took her ring and slid it on her fingers. Her entire body leaned over and their lips met. The kiss was awkward at first, but they got the hang of it soon enough. Their kiss broke and they embraced. "You can come live with me at my home, until we can get a wedding set up."

"I would like that," she said. The two of them joined hands and walked the short distance to Breezehome. The market place watched them go, saying soft congratulations to each of them. Arenar's stomach stopped twisting; he knew he made the right decision now.

* * *

The next morning, Arenar opened his front door to catch the smell of the fresh morning air. A note lie down on the ground in front of his home, wet with the dew. Curious, he picked it up. It was written in deep and black lettering:

_We know about Ysolda. Before your wedding, meet the associate. There should not be any need for elaboration._

* * *

**Author's Note:** I really don't want to bring out the bad news, but I have to say updates are going to start getting slow on this. College is coming up for me now. I will have much more free time in a sense, but at the same time I won't. I will try to do at least a chapter a week, hopefully two or three if I can fit it. At this moment, everything is up in the air. I'll try my hardest to make it all work, but my academics and job come first. Should this story die, I ask for forgiveness and I will let you know I will do my damn hardest to keep it going.


	8. Chapter 7: A Deal Broken?

Arenar brushed past the hired muscle Maven had guarding her this time and he took his spot across from the mogul. "No one told me about a lunatic with a fetish for skeevers."

The woman looked up from her mead. "If it's of any consolation, I was unaware of Hamelyn as well."

He sighed and poured himself a glass. He certainly needed to relax (previous situations with drinking in Skyrim be damned). "That was a nice trick with Ysolda. I thought I had you pegged as just a monster but you corrected me. Now I know you're a complete bitch."

"It's just a business." Maven poured herself some more. "Look, I understand you may be a little 'above' this, but you'll see the brighter side of things in time. Think of all the trinkets and baubles you could buy that stupid girl of yours."

"I won't ever be anything like you." His hands went down to the bottle and he snatched it from Maven's hand. "I'll be short and sweet: I'm doing big things right now. I'm trying to save Skyrim from the dragons…"

"Because that is going so well," she sneered. "Just this week another attacked Morthal and killed ten of the guards and one Khajiit trader. Another wiped out most of an Orc stronghold…"

"You didn't let me finish." Arenar leaned in and stared her straight in the eyes. "As I am trying to save people's lives, you send them to jail. As I try and live my life, you ruin others by destroying their property. And I'll tell you right now that I am damned sick and tired of it. I did what I did for you to move myself forward and to protect my wife. As far as I can see now, you have no control over me. Once I am back in Whiterun, Balgruuf will be the first to know about these threats. Ysolda will be under high security. If I even hear a rumor that you might be planning to hurt her or anyone I know, I will march down here and kill you, Riften's laws be damned."

Arenar stood and threw the bottle of Black-Briar mead against the wall. "And let me make this clear right now, I am stronger than you. I am stronger than anyone you have working for you. You can't stop me. Now, I think we're done here."

Maven glared, her face contorting as if it weren't sure what pure anger looked like anymore. "You just made a very powerful enemy, Arenar Roscius."

Arenar laughed. "I've faced death more than enough times in the past months. Trust me, a few more won't kill me." The guard moved out of the way of Arenar, not sure what to do. The Dragonborn moved fast out of the bar and toward the marketplace and then to the temple, he was not in the mood to miss his own wedding.

At the wall of the temple, Arenar could see Lydia tapping her foot impatiently. "Where were you?" she asked, handing Arenar a set of robes. "When you said to go along ahead with Ysolda, I thought you'd be just a day late!"

He sighed and pulled the wedding robes over his loose tunic and pants. "A really long story that I don't want to get into. Where is Ysolda?"

"She's inside waiting for you," the priest said, poking his head out of the door. "Come on now. No time to waste." Lydia patted down the wrinkles in the garments and helped her thane into the temple.

"Thank you," Arenar said quietly.

"It is the least I could do," Lydia whispered back.

Arenar looked around the temple, noticing more than a few familiar faces. There was Amren and Idolaf. Behind them were Farkas, Vilkas, Torvar, and Athis. On Ysolda's side were a few Khajiit that he recognized from the caravans he had occasionally passed.

Up in front was Ysolda, looking down and away from the back of the temple. Her wedding outfit was more patch-work than Arenar's. He could tell the Khajiit had made it for her from the various fabrics used. Arenar stood next to her and smiled as her head looked up to him and then to the front of the church. Their hands met without the two of them thinking about it.

The priest went into a long sermon and began the rites for marriage, repeating the vows he had recited so many times before. "I do," Ysolda said when it was her turn. Arenar did the same. The priest raised his hands and said one last blessing before setting everyone loose.

The guests came up to the couple, extending congratulations before heading out for the long trip back to Whiterun. Ysolda turned to look at her new husband. "Can we ride home together, love?"

"I was thinking we'd stay the night here in Riften before heading home." Arenar took her in an embrace. "I'd like to spend the night with you in a bed and not in a tent."

She smiled and kissed his cheek. "Sounds like a plan to me." Arenar took Ysolda in his arms toward. They strode to the inn and quickly rented a room for themselves and another for Lydia. They entered their little room and kissed before meeting the other on the bed. Clothes came off but the two didn't engage. They held each other close and kissed, both of them hesitant to move to the next phase. At last though, they did it. It was fuelled by inexperience and fantasies for how this would go down for both of them. While it wasn't as perfectly pleasurable as they had hoped in their dreams, neither could say they were disappointed in each other.

* * *

Sleep didn't come for Arenar. His mind kept drifting to Maven and the Thieves' Guild. Then it would drift to Ysolda and what they could do to her. Despite his talk and confidence, he did truly worry for her. He took a brief stroll around the Riften docks. It was quiet and peaceful and he could stare out at the lake. It helped with his thoughts, just watching the water roll back and forth.

Suddenly, a noise. It wasn't loud, but it wasn't nonexistent either. Someone was sneaking up on him…

He pulled out his swords and spun, eyes running across the docks. There, behind him, was a Dunmer woman in a get-up similar to those in the Thieves' Guild. Instead of being surprised at Arenar's realization, she seemed almost pleased, content even.

"I was wondering when you would notice me," she said quietly.

"What do you want?"

The woman walked toward the pier's railing and leaned on it, looking out at the water. "I want to talk with you."

"I've done enough talking with your group and their friends."

"I'm not with them anymore." She looked at Arenar and sighed. "And that's why I want your help. You have worked with them, yes?"

"Yeah. On two jobs I'd rather not talk about. I'm done with them now."

"Good then." She nodded. "I saved you and your wife tonight. There were two men heading to the inn and I stopped them for you." Arenar stayed quiet. In a way, the knowledge of this didn't surprise him. "You made a strong enemy, as have I. We just happen to intersecting paths. The enemy of my enemy…"

"And you want to be my friend?"

"In a sense, yes. We help each other for mutual benefit. I help protect you and do what you need, you help me catch a murderer."

He looked at the uniform she wore. "I thought hunting down criminals wasn't something thieves did?"

The woman looked away. "Let's just say that there is honor among thieves, and leave it at that for now."

Arenar sighed. "Is everyone so cryptic in this city? Always hiding?"

"You come to learn to act that way here," she said. "It's safer to keep everything inside and to yourself."

"Then why reach out to find me?" Arenar asked.

"Because I have no one to turn to. You're capable and reliable. And most of all, you need the help. Stopping the dragons is a lofty goal. And a necessary one."

"And why do you want them stopped? No one has seemed to be the type to want to help me."

She looked at him. "As far as I can tell, you're the only one doing anything about it. If anyone can stop the dragons, it would be you, Arenar. Stopping them helps everyone. If you help me, we take down a powerful ally of Maven's. She'll be forced to focus on herself and her business instead of you."

Arenar certainly thought he could use the help. She looked capable and if she was right, it could stop Maven in her tracks. Delphine and Esbern certainly would not like this woman being brought into the fold of their little group of Blades, but they had never asked his opinion on more than a few things. It would even out, wouldn't it?

"Alright. We work together until we're done with our respective missions, deal?"

"Deal." The woman took Arenar's hand. "For now, call me Dralasa."

"I'll meet you at the stables then."

They parted ways, Arenar quickly going to the inn. He stopped as he turned the corner, seeing a spectacle of guards and commoners stare at the wall of the meadery. "Nothing to see here, get out you lugs!" a guard was shouting.

Arenar pushed his way to the front of the crowd. Nailed to the wall by arrows and their swords were two burly Nords… the same Nords that had guarded Maven personally. He ran the rest of the way to the inn and got to Lydia's room, rapping on her door.

A second later she opened it, looking heavy eyed. "Yes, my thane?"

"Someone tried to make an attempt at our lives," Arenar said quickly. "Get your horses and get Ysolda out of here and back to Whiterun. Tell Balgruuf and then Vilkaas, Farkas, and Aela. They'll help you with Ysolda."

"Are you not coming?"

"No. I need to leave now and deal with whoever wants us dead."

Lydia nodded. "I understand."

Arenar patted her on the shoulder confidently and left, running to the stables to meet Dralasa. She was already saddled up, Arenar's horse next to her. "Where are we headed?"

"Riverwood." The two horses sped off into the night. Arenar's mind cleared, his objective certain. The dragons would be dealt with. And then would this mysterious murderer.

* * *

**Author's Note:** Alright guys, sad news here. I will not be updating this story for at least a week. Worse news is that it could be longer. I am heading to college now and most of my time will be getting used to all of it and navigating my way to free time. I will be back though and I will finish this, just it might take a while to get the ball rolling again. Until then, please feel free to PM me about anything involving this story and please review and recommend this to your friends if you like it. Especially review, being a way from the story for so long will give me more than enough time to then look at yours and work on my next chapter even better.

Also Karliah is going to be part of the story now. What, you thought I was done bastardizing the Thieves' Guild questline? Also bonus points to whoever knows who Dralasa is without googling it. Funny story about that NPC and me.

And to anyone who dislikes where I am going with this story, writing style or anything, I need your reviews the most. I can't stress this enough. Granted, it needs to be a helpful one, not just "LOL U SUCKZZZ". You can help this be a lot less painful for the two of us.

But most of all to everyone, thanks for even reading this far.


	9. Chapter 8: What You All Were Waiting For

The hike down from High Hrothgar and the Throat of the World was one Arenar was slowly getting used to. Sure he had to fight another frost troll, but Dralasa was certainly capable in a fight (not that Arenar hadn't gotten much better since then). But now he had to go after an Elder Scroll of all things. And he was told to do this by a dragon. Granted Paarthurnax was a very nice dragon, but still he was a dragon.

Dralasa was already saddling up their horses once Arenar left the gates of the monastery. "Where are we headed?" she asked, shouting above the blizzard currently waylaying the entire mountain.

"The College of Winterhold! We're looking for an Elder Scroll!" Arenar shouted back. She continued fixing the horses, waiting until the storm winds had subsided enough that they could actually speak.

"An Elder Scroll?" she asked, perplexed and confused. "We are going after an Elder Scroll?"

"Yeah." Arenar quickly told her everything, from Paarthurnax to Alduin to the Shout used to temporarily defeat him. The entire time she nodded, cool and calculating as always.

"What makes you think the mages know where an Elder Scroll is?" she said at last.

To that, Arenar could only shrug. "Do you have any better ideas?"

* * *

The two had hoped that a 'better idea' would have meant they would not end up at a random iceberg in the middle of nowhere. They had hoped even more that the odd little man inside of the iceberg wouldn't be directing them to a Dwemer ruin. Especially a Dwemer ruin filled with Falmer and about the size of a Hold.

Arenar and Dralasa finished up another group of Falmer and darted their eyes around, expecting to see more of them and their thralls to run at them. For once though, things looked fairly clear. "Think they're done for now?" Arenar whispered.

"What do you think?" she replied angrily.

"I'm just trying to be positive." Arenar pointed to the main city portion of Blackreach. "Do you think that that giant light has any clues?"

To that, Dralasa only shrugged and started walking, Arenar falling in behind. The Dunmer was completely silent, something Arenar envied. That was incredibly useful down here with those blind elves. Though, to be fair, Arenar was getting better at it and the woman had taught him a spell to muffle his noises which he was certainly getting better and better at.

The two sneaked in from what looked like the east entrance. Falmer were prowling around the walls and some of their thralls were standing idly in the center of the city square. Quietly and in turn, the two pulled out their bows and let loose an arrow each. Arenar's knocked one in his shoulder while Dralasa's took one in the face. Before the second thrall could fall, Dralasa pulled out another arrow and finished Arenar's. She nodded and Arenar switched his bow for his sword and they fell into the strategy that had done well for them so far, Arenar smashed through everything and Dralasa picked at the more lethal foes.

Soon enough the last Falmer, a ShadowStalker, was dead and the entire realm was quiet again. Wordlessly, Arenar pointed to a building that appeared connected to the orb and Dralasa nodded. The two entered, making their way through the ruins and to the top near the orb. "How should we break in?" she asked, looking at the lattice work around the orb. "If this is the tower the Elder Scroll is near, it's going to be hard to break that thing."

Arenar nodded, pulling out an arrow. "It's worth a shot." He knocked it and released, grimacing as it bounced harmlessly off the golden orb. "Do you know any magic?"

"Try Shouting." She leaned back against a wall. "It's not like we can do anything else to it."

Arenar stared at the sun, prepping his throat. "FUS RO DAH!" The two stared as the shout shattered the lattice and the orb.

"VOKUL FAHLIIL! ZU FEN KRII HIU!" With a loud roar a mass dropped from the orb, whipping its head around. The dragon unfurled its wings and glared about . "NIVAHRIIN FAHLIIL! MEYZ AHRK GRAH!"

"It doesn't know we're here." Arenar said confidently, the strange dragon words arranging themselves in his mind. "Same plan." He stepped back and ran off the building, swords gleaming in the afterglow of the orb.

The monster heard the whistle of the blades through the air and turned its head to snap at Arenar. "JUL! DIR MED FAHLIIL!" The creature roared as his jaws missed completely. Arenar dug a sword into the beast's maw, sliding down as gravity pushed him to the floor. He withdrew his sword and rolled, lashing out with his second at the dragon's leg.

Dralasa sat up top, pulling back and releasing arrows into the monster's face. One hit it in the nose and another two in its rapidly blinking and unadjusted eyes. "I've blinded it!" she called.

Nodding, Arenar jumped and climbed onto it's back. It's wings and tail thrashed about trying to shake him off but he stood firm. "FUS RO DAH!" The force slammed the dragon's head into the floor, and its body shuddered in pain. He leapt onto its neck, twirled his sword, and dug it deep into the dragon.

"Niid…" it hissed as it slumped onto the ground, life bleeding out of it. It's skin began to flicker and burn up, the dragon soul racing into Arenar. He sighed and smiled. When it had first been a strange and alien feeling, he now welcomed dragon souls. For some reason now, the rush of a new person into him had a euphoric feeling, a new piece of his brain was unlocking itself and was now ready to use.

If Dralasa was impressed she did not show it. "I suppose it wasn't carrying an Elder Scroll?"

Arenar shook his head. "Nothing."

Then, he thought of something, actually, a lot of somethings. Words and phrases in an unfamiliar tongue raced around in his head spoken in hushed whispers by many men and women. Then came a translation for all of it… Kel… Elder Scroll. Everywhere Arenar looked he heard more words and their draconic equivalent and then the translation in human. Over there was a war room, there a palace, there servants quarters. And over there, a hike away was a tower. Wahlaan Vahlok Kel… Built Guardian Scroll… and its modern name: the Tower of Mzark.

"It's over there," he said.

* * *

The hike back up to The Throat of The World was easier this time, no frost trolls or ice wraiths hindered his path. Arenar wordlessly climbed, Shouting only when he needed to. He came to the top to find Paarthurnax waiting. "You have brought the Kel?"

To that Arenar pulled out the Scroll and opened it. The paper rolled out easily and simply, snapping open. The erratic scribbles and markings glowed with an unholy light and a loud white crash filled Arenar's eyes and ears. The crash left just as quickly as it came and he stood, watching dragons swoop overhead and Shouting down at the mountaintop. Three warriors came together, conversing quickly, anxious and ready for battle.

A loud Shout was heard and the three warriors turned their eyes to the sky. The black dragon from Helgen, Alduin, rushed and landed, screaming at them and at Paarthurnax for his betrayal. The Ancient Nordic banter between the four was unrecognizable to his modern ears but he understood the gravity in their voices, and most importantly, what they were Shouting: "JOOR ZAH FRUL".

Alduin shuddered, his black scales glowing blue. He screamed in agony, gasping as the weapons of the warriors cut into his scaled armor. A heavy flash of light and sound filled Arenar's senses and he was back, but the scene wasn't much different in the present.

Dragons swooped over head, shouting for Alduin and at himself. "Dovahkiin!" Alduin roared, swooping in low for a pass at Arenar. "YOL TOOR SHUL!" Red and vibrant fire leapt from the dovah's maw, racing toward Arenar.

"JOOR ZAH FRUL!" he answered, watching in awe as the fire disappeared and Alduin glowed blue and his wings faltered in the wind. He came crashing down, in complete surprise. Arenar jumped aside and readied his two blades, coating them with some poison he had taken from several of the Falmer from earlier in Blackreach.

He stepped toward Alduin, twirling his blades effortlessly. The dragon turned to face him, growling wordlessly. Alduin lunged toward him and Arenar slashed with his blades, tooth meeting cold Dwemer metal, and Dwemer winning. Shocked, Alduin pulled back.

"ZUUN…!" Alduin began to Shout.

"JOOR ZAH FRUL!" The breath behind Alduin's voice left and the scales glowed bright once again, shattering under the force of Arenar's swinging weapons.

"Fus…" Alduin cried, looking at the Dovahkiin in fear. "Ro… Dah!"

The Shout knocked Arenar back just slightly, long enough for Alduin to leap into the sky. The dragons surrounding the mountaintop went quiet, watching Alduin fly away. From the black dragon's mouth, Arenar could hear frantic pants. "DAAL VODAHMIN SKULDAFN!"

The dragon disappeared into the clouds and his followers left slowly. Paarthurnax landed next to Arenar, both too stunned at what occurred to speak.

After what felt like an hour, Arenar felt his voice return to him. "Where did he go?"

* * *

**Author's Note:** This took much longer than I wanted it to. College really has been hitting me hard, so many things I am getting involved in. I'm going to try and set aside sometime now for this story, but if things start getting tough this will need to get cut first, that's just how it is. Sorry. Also I kind of rushed the end, didn't do my normal editing gauntlet of this, so forgive me there.


	10. Chapter 9: Calm Before The Storms

Arenar stared Balgruuf in the eyes, Dralasa and Lydia stared down Balgruuf's accompanyment, Irileth and Proventus respectively. The Jarl looked at the three and blinked. "You say you want to catch… a dragon."

"That is correct," Arenar said.

Dragonsreach went silent. Proventus gave a mixed look of incredulity and fear while Irileth and Hrongar gave the Dragonborn's company a critical eye. The silence filled the hall but heavy and panting footsteps made them all turn to see Farengar sprinting from his room. "Did someone say catching a dragon!" he wheezed, completely out of breath.

The Jarl groaned and ignored the wizard. "You have done a great service to my people and I know of your exploits… but you are pressing it."

Arenar nodded. "I understand that. But I need to catch and speak to a dragon about finding Alduin. I fought him recently and he escaped. I need to finish the job."

At the World-Eater's name the guards frantically being speaking amongst themselves. Arenar's first conclusions about the guardsmen always found a way to proove themselves, they were far too superstitious. "ENOUGH!" Balgruuf roared, glancing around his hall. "Go to your duties, all of you!"

"Catching a dragon is beyond what we can do," Irileth said, crossing her arms. "He's too big for a Calm."

"Olaf One-Eye did it here, didn't he? Using Dragonsreach?" Dralasa said, mimicking the housecarl."

"Ashlander," Irileth hissed quietly. Dralasa only smiled.

"Jarl, I'm willing to fight the dragon on my own without any help. I defeated Alduin once. They'll be more willing to accept a challenge from me," Arenar said.

"I still would need all of my guards in the city in case you fail. I have faith in your abilities, but I can't let there be any chance that my people be put in harm's way."

"And that would be seen as provocation," Proventus said hurriedly. "All of our men amassing in the walls, it will look like we're expecting an attack."

"Maybe you haven't noticed, but there are Stormcloak and Imperial scouts running around outside my walls. If Ulfric or Tullius see me amassing troops what do you think they are going to think, hm?" Balgruuf said.

"We should just join Tullius like I told you to ages ago," Hrongar said, speaking up like he hardly ever did. "Ulfric is the one to worry about. That little camp of his is getting bigger every day. At least Tullius stays in Falkreath."

"And make my hold Tullius' frontline?" Balgruuf said.

"With the Empire's help, we could give some of them to Arenar and station the rest on the walls. Less of our men have to die," Proventus said.

"That's cowardly," Balgruuf muttered.

"It's better than Ulfric," Hrongar said. "He just demands and demands more and more soldiers to just throw away in endless charges."

Balgruuf turned to Arenar. "I'll set up Dragonsreach for you and in return you need to tell Tullius I am on his side and go inform Ulfric. Go to Tullius first in Solitude and then get back here."

The Imperial nodded and left with Dralasa and Lydia coming close behind. Once the doors of Dragonsreach were shut behind them, Arenar stopped. "Lydia, has Ysolda been safe?"

"Yes. Amren and a few of the Battle-borns have been helping me keep a look-out. "

"Good. Dralasa, do whatever you need to do. I need to see about fixing my armor and swords."

"Of course. Tomorrow morning?" she asked.

"Tomorrow morning," he agreed.

Arenar briskly ran to the Skyforge, jumping to it through the cliffside and then over the walls and running up the steps. Eorlund raised his head from the grindstone. "Oh, Harbinger. I thought you were dead."

"Haha, very funny." Arenar leaned against a wall and looked at the master blacksmith. "Things have been keeping me busy."

"I would think that the Harbinger would see that his group was running before traveling around half of Skyrim. What's wrong?"

Arenar pulled off his armor and set it before him. "Pretty much everything is breaking down right now."

Eorlund placed the metal into a trough of water and inspected the tools. Arenar couldn't be more right, the beginnings of rust were on his weapons and armor, evidence of their time spent fording rivers. Leather straps were starting to break down, the weapon's blades were dulling and the armor looked like it was ready to fall apart from all the dings and dents in it. Eorlund took his time examining it all. "Dwemer and Orcish armor. What happened to your Wolf?"

"That got too beat up, I found these lying around and on some bandits and other... things I needed to kill." Arenar had no intention of _ever_ speaking or seeing a Falmer ever again.

He moved now to the weapons, gently picking up the Dwemer swords. "Very dull." He turned to a glass bow. "I thought you liked rushing head long into battle?"

"I'm learning how arrows are against dragons. A friend gave it to me." No reason to lie about his training from Dralasa in stealth and assassinating specific targets.

The blacksmith sighed. "You have a lot of work for me to do." Eorlund turned to his forge. "Look, Arenar, I have a busy load right now. My wife needs me to make several suits of armor and weapons for some friends, Farkas and Vilkas got themselves tangled with a giant and I have to completely redo everything I have for them, Athis got himself some bonemold thing from Morrowind that he's having me look at … I have a lot to do."

"That's a problem. I need to go kill Alduin. And probably get involved in the War while I'm at it."

Eorlund perked his head up at the dragon's name. "I'm not going to ask." He pulled on the bellows and turned to the metal. "Help me fix everything then."

"All I've ever done is make some daggers and make leather armor, and it wasn't that good of a dagger."

The blacksmith smiled. "Same principle. I just need someone to help, maybe sharpen some things, smooth out some dents. Can you do that?"

Arenar nodded and sat down at the grindstone, picking up some weapons from a pile.

* * *

The Dragonborn quietly closed Breezehome's door. "Arenar," a soft voice said near the fireplace. From a little wooden chair Ysolda's tired form slowly roused. He walked over to her and hugged her close. "I've missed you."

"I did too." He kissed her tenderly on the lips and picked her up. "How long were you waiting?" She stayed quiet and Arenar laughed. "I'll take that as a long while."

Her mouth opened in a smile. "You know, it's not very husbandly to leave on your wedding night."

Arenar creaked up the stairs and looked away from her eyes. "There were special cirumstances…"

"Lydia told me." She shifted in his arms and wrapped hers around his neck. "Will you be staying home?"Arenar's continued averted gaze made her go quiet. "I see."

He set her down on the bed and then joined her. "Ysolda…"

"I know. You're doing important things. You are the Dragonborn." Her last words lost their breath but seemed to hang in the air for an unbearable amount of time.

He held his wife close. He told her everything, about the Thalmor Embassy, about Maven and her threats, about the Greybeards and Paarthurnax, about Septimus Signus and Blackreach, about the rift in time, and most importantly, about Alduin and his plan to catch a dragon. He knew he shouldn't tell her but there was a voice in his head that told him to do so. It came out like a torrent, unable to be stopped. At the end of it all, Arenar buried his head in her neck and closed his eyes.

Ysolda did the same and hugged him close. "I'm sorry."

"It's not your fault." He kissed her and pulled back to look her in the eyes. "Ysolda, I swear, as soon as I can, I will come home and I will stay home. It isn't fair to you." Without a word, she kissed him back and closed her eyes, falling asleep with a slight smile on her face. A few moments later, Arenar did the same.

* * *

Early the next morning, Arenar quickly ran to the Skyforge to finish up the work on the armor he and Eorlund had started on the previous evening. Eorlund had said it would be easier just to construct a completely new set instead of worrying about fixing the old pair, so Arenar picked up some ebony he had yet to sell and handed it to the smith.

Eorlund was already there, finishing up the last few straps. "It's a little crude, but for a first attempt it's fairly good. You said you never worked with ebony before?"

"Never."

Eorlund then picked up a bright silver blade. "I'd worked on this for a while. A little finer than regular Skyforge steel, perfect for a Harbinger. And of course, its twin blade."

Arenar looked at the main piece of the armor and put it on, looking down at the golden pattern upon it. "I've never seen anything like this."

The blacksmith smiled. "I put in some extra work on it. Called gilded ebony armor. A little flashy, but it'll make you stand out in a big fight. You're used to small and person fights, not battles between armies. Friendly fire is a very real possibility." Arenar took the swords and swung them carefully before sheathing it and then he hefted his bow onto his back. Eorlund looked the Harbinger in the eyes. "How many dragons have you killed?"

"More than a few," Arenar paused, not sure what he was getting at.

"When you mentioned Alduin, I got to thinking. I read once that there was an armor made of dragon bones and scales hundreds of years ago. That would protect you a lot more than this here." A twisted smile grew on his face. "And it'd strike the fear of Ysmir in anything you face."

The same smile appeared on Arenar's face. "I'll cart what I have over. Work your magic."

* * *

**Author's Notes:** Is this a chapter? HOLY SHIT! But yeah, I found some time. Also, I have no idea what I am doing now. I'm mixing the main quest with the civil war now and probably will end up throwing in some other stuff in there for shits and giggles. Also as soon as Alduin is dead, most of this "following the game pretty closely" thing is going to get thrown out the window. This is already sort of happening as you can see with the Thieves' Guild stuff and Dralasa, but its going to get a load worse soon enough.

Also Arenar isn't going to be a master smith/enchanter/alchemist (for now). He will have Dragonbone armor fighting Alduin and will keep said armor for the rest of his life (I dislike the look of Daedric armor with a passion) but this saves on me explaining SUPA L33t smithing skillz appearing out of his ass so he can get the armor.

Ok, and now for game bridging to story purposes: he's wearing Gilded Ebony armor with regular Ebony gauntlets, helmet, and boots (gilded from the Morrowind Armor mod), wielding two tempered Skyforge Steel swords (oh this will change quickly). For stats, he has above average one-handed, heavy armor, speech, and restoration (from healing himself after and during some battles). Smithing and stealth and illusion and archery are now average. Everything else is below.


	11. Chapter 10: The Battle of Whiterun

General Tullius had an interesting gaze. It seemed kind enough, but Arenar could see the man's eyes scan his entire outfit, his blades, his armor, the way he stood… he was a warrior through and through. "I trust you didn't just wander in here by accident," he said.

Arenar shook his head. "I am here to represent Jarl Balgruuf the Greater as his thane."

The woman next to the general smiled. "So he's seen what way is right, has he?"

"Rikke!" Tullius hissed. "What is his message?" he asked more cordially.

"Whiterun is pledging itself to the Imperial Legion. Due to the current climate around the city, he is requesting your men be placed en route at the nearest opportunity. He fears the Stormcloaks are massing troops in preparation of an attack."

Tullius cracked a smile. "Actually, we were just discussing the high probability of that occurring. You may return to the Jarl with the reply that we will be sending a detachment later today and they should be arriving shortly."

Arenar nodded and turned, about to leave the castle. Hearing footsteps behind him he turned to see Rikke standing outside of the war room. "You are Arenar Roscius, yes?"

"Yes."

She smiled. "It is an honor that you are joining the Imperials, Dragonborn. I look forward to seeing your work."

Arenar simply nodded and left for the stables.

* * *

Arenar and Dralasa rode quickly. Whiterun, fading into nothing as they went. Dull but durable Dragonbone armor laid on Arenar's body and a gleaming steel axe was at his side. The loud thudding of marching steps brought their attention to the mountainside. As they rode a column of soldiers wearing the blue of the Stormcloak rebellion were entering a camp.

"Think we should hurry?" Arenar asked. Dralasa nodded and cracked her horse's reins. They raced past Valtheim Towers, seeing more Stormcloaks dotting the bridge between the two towers. As they rode past Mixwater stables, Arenar signaled to Dralasa and they both dismounted to let their horses rest and drink from the river.

Dralasa started up a small cooking fire and the two had a simple meal of bread and roasted goat legs. As they finished cleaning up, Dralasa cocked her head and pointed to the road. "Someone's coming," she whispered. Soon, Arenar could see what she was pointing out, a lone Stormcloak soldier was running down the road and was about to cross the bridge.

"Probably a runner," Arenar said, taking out his bow.

"Sure you want the shot?" she asked. "I am the better of the two of us."

"How else am I going to get better?" he said. He took out a glass arrow and aimed, letting his string loose as the man started to cross. The bolt flew through the air and hit the man square in the chest. He fell back several feet and didn't stand up.

Dralasa nodded in approval. "I'll get rid of the body. I'll meet up with you later."

Arenar mounted his horse and continued the ride, hardly stopping until he reached the stables of Windhelm. The guards gave him an inquisitive look and three began to follow him as he entered the city. Bone armor, especially as tough looking as a dragon's was more than enough to provoke worry.

Arenar looked back at them and took off his helmet. All three stopped, recognizing him. "Dragonborn!" one said.

He only nodded and kept walking, finding his way to the Palace of Kings. He ignored the man in Stormcloak officer armor and the steward, calling out to Ulfric, "Ulfric Stormcloak!" The jarl looked up, giving Arenar and his armor a scrutinizing stare.

"What is it? If you've come to join the Stormcloaks, speak to Galmar."

"I present to you Jarl Balrgruff's axe." With a quick bit of shuffling, he procured the axe and held it out to Ulfric.

The man sighed. "He is an honorable man, but a traitor all the same. I look forward to facing him in battle. Return to your Jarl, Dragonborn. You picked the wrong side of destiny."

Arenar sheathed the axe, not surprised Uflric recognized him, everyone seemed to be able to as of late. He left the city, seeing Dralasa just pull into the stables. "It's done?" she asked and he nodded. Her eyes darted to the city for a moment and she grimaced. "More soldiers." Arenar looked back, seeing a column of Stormcloaks begin to march out of the gates.

"Ten Septims say they're heading to Whiterun," he muttered, mounting his steed once again. "Let's go." They rode nonstop, all the way to Dragonsreach. Arenar climbed the steps and entered the hall, calling out ", He returned the axe. He marches to Whiterun!"

* * *

The next morning, Whiterun was brimming with soldiers. Guards and Imperials patrolled the streets and the streets were empty, the villagers knowing what was to happen. Outside, hordes of Stormcloaks stood ready, catapults arranged in various positions. Anyone could see that the Empire was outnumbered by at least three to one, most likely more. The soldiers, as brave as they were, were filled with dread at the sight of the large force.

At the gate stood Rikke and the Circle, minus the Harbinger. "I must thank you once again for assisting us," Rikke said.

To that they nodded. "Whiterun is our home as well, we would not see it abandoned," Vilkas said.

"I could do with him helping though."

Aela shrugged. "He seems to find his way into things. I wouldn't worry about it."

All at once then, there was a loud cry followed by hundreds of others. The horde shifted and broke into a run, all heading for the gate. "Alright men! We stop them here!" Rikke cried.

Aela and the other archers began letting shots loose into the enemy, men crying out as they her hit and then fell and then trampled by their own men. It was not enough though, soon they were at the barricade, smashing the wooden stakes with their axes and warhammers. Then though, there were anguished cries in the back of the army and a single voice rising above the others.

* * *

Arenar peered out from a rock near the secret exit of the Underforge, his horse already waiting. "Alright, let's go Allie." He mounted her and pull out his swords, clearing his throat. He cracked the reins and sped to the back of the lines, his eyes catching the catapults, all arranged in a line. "YOL TOOR SHUL!" Fire leapt from his mouth and washed over the catapults and their operators unexpectedly, crying out in pain. He leapt from Allie and danced nimbly about them, cutting through their armor easily.

Satisfied, he climbed aboard Allie again and sped into the rear of their lines, all of the soldiers focused on Whiterun proper. He jumped off again. "TIID KLO UL!" Time slowed down and his swords went much faster, slicing through the men before they could even realize they were being flanked. As the Shout began to fade, he called out again and again. "SU GRAH DUN!" "FAAS RU MAAR!" "ZUN HAAL VIIK!"

The battle became complete chaos. The backlines were being decimated; the front was worried about the back... From the main walls of Whiterun, more soldiers appeared, unleashing arrows into the center of the mob. The officers tried focusing their men, their shouts missed over the cries of confusion and anger and the clash of blades on armor. The Stormcloak armor, as useful as it was, was not well designed. It was light but was less effective than the Imperial leather. It certainly proved useless against Skyforge weaponry.

The battle was a rout, the Dragonborn's Shouts alone enough to break mens' spirits. The Stormcloaks broke and ran, arrows stopping many from ever escaping. Arenar let them run, smiling at the men stationed on the walls. One of the men called to him, shouting "All hail the Dragonborn!" The chorus grew louder and louder, gaining voices rapidly. He just smiled and walked to them. This was over, but he still needed Dragonsreach.

* * *

**Author's Notes:** Wait! I still function!

So yeah, things are obviously hectic here. Yay college. No ETA on the next chapter, but I'm working on it. Probably won't be out till December. A friend is really trying to get me to do NaNoWriMo so that leaves no time for this. So, what happens happens. Yay.


	12. Chapter 11: The (Not) Endgame Part 1

Arenar's eyes glanced across the men standing on the balcony next to him. He recognized a few from the group Irileth deployed to the Western Watchtower ages ago. The others, fairly new (yet eager) soldiers, averted their gaze from his. They'd either seen or heard of Arenar's deeds in the Battle of Whiterun and heard of his tales as Harbinger of the Companions. It was better, they reasoned, not to say anything at all and to not hurt this hero's opinion of them.

Truthfully though, Arenar wished they weren't standing here with him. Their hearts were in the right place, but they'd just be more collateral. He knew how to fight dragons. Save for the two or three veterans, the rest were all green. Balgruuf insisted however and his word was final.

"We are ready when you are, Dragonborn," one of the veterans said. Arenar nodded and aimed his mouth to the skies.

"OD-AH-VIING!"

The guards instinctively pulled out bows and ran to the edge of the balcony, knocking arrows, eyes darting about the skies. Arenar stood in the middle of the balcony, swords ready.

A shrieking roar came out and there was a rush of wings. "Dragon!" muffled calls from Whiterun proper cried.

"I thought Balgruff told them to get inside!" Arenar cursed. Odahviing came swooping overhead, giving the balcony of Dragonsreach a once-over before spotting Arenar.

"Dovahkiin, here I am!" it said almost a little too pleased.

Arenar squinted and shouted, "JOOR ZAH FRUL."

As the first syllable left Arenar's mouth, Odahviing shuddered. As the rest left his lips, his wings began to falter and his hardened scales became like paper. His fall was quick and sudden, landing beneath the balcony. Sheathing his swords, Arenar jumped off, landing with a loud crunch his dragonplate armor barely protected against. He slowly stood on the Whiterun soil, pain coursing through his body, a hand raised and glowing with healing magic to push away the pain.

The dragon turned and snarled. "I can understand Alduin, but this! If you cannot fight a dovah as a dovah you have no honor!" it roared. Arenar stepped closer and pulled out one of his swords.

"I'm a dovahkiin, not a dovah." Arenar leveled his sword at Odahviing's head.

"It is one in the same."

"Odahviing, I'm going to ask you some questions. If you don't I'm going to kill you and keep calling dragons until I get answers I want."

"You really do not have any honor then."

"Where is Alduin?" Arenar pressed his blade to the dragon's temple, ready to stab.

Odahving narrowed his eyes. "You won't like my answer."

"Try me."

"Sovngarde."

"Last I checked, Alduin was an ugly lizard, not a Nord."

Odahviing brushed away the sword, some of his strength returning, and he let out a deep guttural laugh. "You've come all this way Dovahkiin and you still think it is so simple? There is magic in a ruin known as Skuldafn. It contains a portal to Sovngarde. Alduin is there, eating souls of your fallen soldiers. You can't kill him. He will be back."

Arenar shouted away Odahviing's strength. "Tell me where Skuldafn is."

"It doesn't matter where it is. It is impossible to get there if you are a human. Even if you try using your Thu'um, it will alert every dovah and draugr defending the place and within a league."

The dragonborn stepped onto the dragon's back, sword still pointed into his throat. "Then you are going to take me there."

Odahviing froze, confused. "Take you…?!"

"Yes." It was now Arenar's turn to smile. "If I can't get there, you'll take me."

The dragon laughed again. "And you think they will let me get that far?"

"You are Alduin's second, aren't you?"

"Was," Odahving said quickly and sharply. "Alduin has proven himself unfit to rule. I go my own way now."

"Alduin isn't going to take too kindly to that once he comes back after eating half of Sovngarde."

"Your point?"

"Help me help you. Take me to Skuldafn. I'll kill Alduin and save this world, and you for when he comes for his revenge."

Arenar sheathed his sword and Odahviing's wings opened. "You're a foolish man."

"I'm also a dovah at heart."

A low and annoyed growl left Odahviing's mouth as the two flew into the air and towards the north.

* * *

Odahviing finally landed, low in a fairly deserted and ruined part of the mountain. "This is as far as it is safe to go. Good luck, Dovahkiin."

Arenar nodded, pulled out his swords, and began the long walk up to the main temple. There was a loud roar and what sounded like a broken and cracked bugle. Suddenly, out from a single doorway, a legion of draugr armed in war regalia streamed forth and three dragons appeared from out of the sky.

He dropped his swords and pulled out a long and slender and disturbing looking staff. "Sweet roll," he prayed, aiming it at one of the dragons. The monster stopped in midair, shifting into a Dremora lord. The daedra let out a fierce war scream… that promptly ended when it fell to its death.

The first wave of draugr was nearing, Over and Deathlords, Ebony Greatswords of Freezing held high. Arenar turned to them. "FUS…" they began to shout.

"FUS RO DAH!" Arenar roared, knocking them backward.

"RO DAH!" They Shouted, their faces now pointed behind them. The entire line of draugr shuddered under the multiple waves, being thrown up the mountain.

The second dragon swooped in, Shouting down a rain of fire at Arenar and the fallen wave of draugr. Arenar dropped a hand from the Wabbajack to put up a basic ward. As it passed overhead he Shouted away the dragon's power. With a roar of surprise, it's flightless body plummeted into the ground a few miles below.

Arenar ran forward to meet the next two waves of draugr, still stumbling up and catching their bearings… and dropped weapons. "WULD NA KESH!" he yelled, driving the end of the Wabbajack straight through the head of a Death Lord. He dropped the weapon and pulled out two ebony daggers. The Dragonborn dodged and parried, ducked and covered, slashed and stabbed whenever the enchanted and ancient blades of the draugr were down.

The third and final dragon, glaring at the wave of death Arenar was causing, counted his blessings and flew away.

Out of breath and just a bit tired, Arenar took stock of his weapons and again readied his two swords. There was another loud horn call, and Arenar braced himself. This would be a long and tiring climb.

* * *

Arenar finished the long trek to the top of Skuldafn. Before him stood only a single floating creature, it's body covered in a tattered and rotting purple gown and a black mask covered it's face. "Zu'u uth nall thurri dein daar mirrak."

"Hin fen kos krent," Arenar growled out, the words in draconic appearing in his mind.

"Sosaal fah hin vothaarn!" The dragon priest raised his staff into the air and bolts of lightning shot out, hitting Arenar in the chest. He grimaced and steadied himself, trying to remember the words…

"ZUN HAAL VIK!" The dragon priest only laughed and brandished his staff closer, firing off another wave. Arenar leapt out of the way, turning to face the priest again. "WULD NA!" He darted forward sword rasied but only to be parried by the staff.

"Fent ni filok!" the priest hissed.

Arenar growled, slashing with the other. The priest parried and backed away, twirling the staff around, ready for another melee. But then, it laughed and floated above Arenar's head. "ZUN HAAL VIK!" it Shouted. Both of Arenar's blades flung from his hands and down the stairs leading to the top of the temple. "Hin lass los dii!" it cackled. It raised the staff again, making it clear the fight would soon be over.

Arenar picked up his bow and his free hand clasped an amulet of Talos around his neck. "Divines… SU GRAH DUN! TIID KLO UL!"

The air around them slowed to a halt, the priest not expecting such quick Shouts. Arenar pulled back an arrow, faster than the wind and shot it off, pulled another, and shot it off, aiming perfectly for the face of the creature. Time flashed back to normal and the priest shrieked as the arrows punctured the mask. The priest wailed and collapsed, dissolving into dust.

After retrieving his blades, Arenar searched the dust pile and uncovered the mask and staff. He turned the mask in his hands, feeling the power imbued in it. Whatever this thing was… it would be good to keep hold of it.

Lastly, he took the staff and brandished it at the portal he had seen the priest destroy when he reached the summit. The portal reopened and he dropped the staff, readjusted his knives and bow and swords, and walked into Sovngarde.

* * *

**Author's Note:** Ok, before I get any dislikes for Arenar raping and for me skipping most of Skuldafn... it's not fun to write or play. I'm not writing out what basically amounts to running around killing two Draugr and running thirty feet to kill the next two. That's no fun for me to write or you to read. Especially not when Draugr are just sad excuses for foes at that point. I've fought Daedra, multiple dragons, torn down an entire siege, and said "f you" to an entire city of Falmer. Viking zombies are a little easy at this stage in the game.

But I'm back now. Hi. Hi new subscriber people, new author alert people, old people of the above categories, and/or random viewers. I'm actually writing now. A new chapter should be out sometime before the end of January and I can start caring less about the main quest and caring more about making my story good and original and my title relevant again.

Please review if you like this or even if you didn't like this. Criticism lets me know what I'm doing wrong, praise me helps me do more good. Feedback makes both our lives happier. Drop a PM if you want too. I'm not picky. Anything at all helps me gets me to be a better writer and gets you guys a better story.


	13. Chapter 12: The (Not) Endgame Part 2

In all of the books Arenar had read and the bards he heard in his travels, none of them had said Sovngarde would look so uninviting. A gray and shimmering mist covered the land. All but a few hills and mountains escaped the fog. The Imperial's eyes drifted over the mist and they narrowed at the sight of Alduin, his body darker and more menacingly looking than ever. The dragon soared high above before diving into the mist only to fly out a scream or two later. Seeing no other way to approach the dragon, Arenar entered into the mist.

The fog obscured all but a foot ahead of him. It passed through his armor, touching his skin with a cold grasp. As Arenar finished down the hill, he heard the rubbing of hardened leather on leather and instinctively drew his swords. From the mist stepped a stormcloak, his face uncovered by his open mask but recovered once more by the weather. "Hail, brother Nord!" he said, hands raised, no weapons in either.

Arenar sheathed the blades. "Who are you?"

"Sven Wolf-Runner. Yourself?"

"Arenar Roscius."

The man instantly bowed. "Harbinger and Dragonborn, it is an honor." The bow quickly turned to a sober realization. "If you're here too… what has become of the world? What of Sofie?"

"I'm still alive. I traveled here to stop Alduin." Arenar put a hand on Sven's shoulder to comfort him. "I defeated him there, I came to finish the job."

"You can't defeat him, it's impossible. I appeared here long ago with my comrades. We were ambushed but fought with valor. We were to go to the Hall of Valor when this cursed mist surrounded us. Then, that monster came and… and… I was the only one that escaped."

Arenar's hand dropped and clenched into a fist. "Do you know if there is a way to stop him now?"

"I do not know. I am trying to find the Hall. If there will be a counterattack, I wish to help. I died to protect Skyrim. I will destroy my soul if it means I can defend it in death!"

"Then we'll go together then." Arenar turned his voice to the mist before him. "LOK VAH KOOR!" Before the two, the mist parted just slightly, revealing a stone path. "Let's go."

"VEN MUL RIIK!" a Shout rumbled in the distance, reforming the mist.

"I will stay close, Dragonborn," Sven said, keeping close, battle axe drawn.

And so they went, slowly, and carefully. They could hear the laughs of Alduin in the distance but all too often it was unbearably close. These laughs were always shortly followed by screams and crunches as the dragon ate another unsuspecting warrior. Soon, the mist begins to clear near a rocky out-cropping leading onto a bridge made of bleach-white bone. Beyond it stood a lofty mead-hall, even more imposing and impressive than Jorrvaskr.

A large, burly man stepped forward. "What brings you, wayfarers grim, to wander here, in Sovngarde, souls-end, Shor's gift to honored dead?"

"We seek entrance to the Hall of Valor," Arenar said.

"No shade are you, as usually here passes, but living, you dare the land of the dead. By what right do you request entry?"

"By right of glory and honor. I am Harbinger of the Companions and Dragonborn."

The man smiles. "I welcome the chance to challenge the blade of the heir of Ysgrammor and Ysmir, an honored shield-brother of Kodlak Whitemane."

"May I enter the Hall?"

"Living or dead, by decree of Shor, none may pass this bridge till I judge them worth by the warrior's test." Before drawing his blades, Arenar eyed Sven. He might be a son of Skyrim, but his arm looked fairly meek.

"Tsun, I ask to take upon Sven Wolf-Runner's test as well. He is a Son of Skyrim. To help him reach the Hall would be an honor."

"Shor was firm. Your companion, heart true, can prepare here as long as needed. This wurm lurks, pressing matters need be attended."

Both drew their weapons, Arenar his blades, Tsun his axe. Arenar began to circle, waiting for Tsun to make the first move. "You first, honored shield-thane." The axe swung, incredibly fast, to which Arenar parried with a sword, only for it to fling from his hands. He leaned back, the blades of the axe barely missing him.

"This test, ancient and hallowed, spells doom if taken light."

Stepping back, near the mist, Arenar extended his hand to his sword. "ZAHKRII DAAL VOLAAN!" The sword flew back into his hand and he twirled his blades, eyes narrowing. "Understood."

A smile crossed Tsun's face. "For too long, Quiet my foes have been!" Tsun stepped forward and shook his battle axe. "Approach, dragonkin!" Arenar ran forward and with a flash, the axe met his twin blades. Tsun pushed forward, his strength beginning to push Arenar back. "FUS RO!" The axe faltered for a brief moment, allowing Arenar to extend a blade to Tsun's unprotected arm. He slashed, a deep cut on the limb appeared.

Tsun dropped his stance, looked at the cut, and laughed. "Too long it has been! You are worthy of Shor's food and drink. Forward I look to your true death, Harbinger and Dragonborn." Before all three of their eyes, the wound stitched itself back up, the heavy axe ready for use once again. Arenar nodded, sheathed his blade and began the walk into the hall.

"It is your turn now, Son of Skyrim."

"Aye."

The sound of blades and the long hilts of their clashing axes carried far over the bridge as Arenar opened the doors of the great hall. The large doors opened with barely a push and a rush of noise hit Arenar. There was the sound of a chorus of bards singing in draconic, the rush of power only marginally less strong than the Greybeards Speaking to him.

At the door though, was a familiar figure, wielding an intricate battle axe. "Ysgrammor," Arenar said, giving the man a nod.

"Welcome, Dragonborn. None have entered here since Alduin first set his soul-snare here. By Shor's command we sheathed our blades and ventured not the vale's dark mist. But three await your word to loose their fury upon this perilous foe. Gormlaith the Fearless, gladdened in battle; Hakon the Valiant, heavy-handed warrior; Felldir the Old, far-seeing and grim."

Arenar passed through the hall, moving past a hundred warriors, some he recognized from tales and stories, others he had never heard of before. At the far end of the hall stood the three warriors. The woman, Gormlaith raised her sword. "Hail Dragonborn! At long last! Alduin's doom is now ours to seal. Just speak the word and with high hearts we'll hasten forth to smite the wurm wherever he lurks!"

The robed man, Felldir turned to the others and frowned. "Hold, comrades. Let us take counsel before a battle is blindly joined. Alduin's mist is more than a snare, its shadowy gloom is his shield and cloak. But with our four voices joined, our valor combined, we can blast the mist and bring him to battle."

"Felldir speaks wisdom, the World Eater, coward, fears you, Dragonborn. We must drive away his mist, Shouting together, and then unsheathe our blades in desperate battle with our black-winged foe," the last man, Hakon said before joining his axe to Gormlaith's sword.

To these weapons, Arenar joined his twin blades. "To battle. I didn't defeat the dragon just so he could come here and feed on the honored dead."

Gormlaith cracked a wide smile and charged toward the door. "To battle, my friends!" Felldir and Hakon ran after with similar cries and then came Arenar. As the four left the hall, there was a great clamor and they were followed by the souls inside, waiting and wishing to see this battle.

The bone bridge creaked as the army poured out, the three ancient warriors and Arenar at the front. They stopped near Tsun and Sven. Their battle over, the Tsun the victor. "Dragonborn, I wish you glory and honor!" the stormcloak cried.

Stepping down, Arenar looked into the mist with the others. "On three. One… two…"

"LOK VAH KOOR!" they Shouted, pushing the entire valley of mist away.

"VEN MUL RIIK!" Just as quickly, the mist returned.

"Again!" Gormlaith cried.

"LOK VAH KOOR!"

"VEN MUL RIIK!"

"Coward!" Sven called from the bridge. "Fight, you monster!" A chorus of shouts joined his.

In the din, Felldir turned to the other three. "His power wanes. Once more!"

"One… two…"

"LOK VAH KOOR!"

Instead of a Shout there was a roar. Coming from behind a mountain peak was Alduin, anger and fire in his eyes. "Zu'u Alduin! Zok sahrot do naan ko Lein!" The dragon pointed itself toward the four. "Pahlok joore! Hin kah fen kos bonaar! DILON NAHLOT DIIN!" A large wave ran over the bridge and the four looking on.

Arenar looked to his sides, the three were frozen still, snarls on their face, unable to move. He waved his hand in front of Hakon, his expression still kept in that unmoving snarl. "Free them!"

Alduin landed before Arenar and laughed. "Are you afraid to do battle with me, Dovahkiin? This is our fight! No one else's!"

With a bestial growl, Arenar ran forward, his body filled with anger and courage. Swords spinning, he Roared, "JOOR ZAH FRUL!"

* * *

**Author's Note:** Ok, so I'm making up Shouts now. Of course, they sound vaguely like gibberish when actually translated… I'm working with the wiki and they only have so many words I can steal for these.

The reason Arenar is fighting alone is because this would make a far better fight. The three beat Alduin before (sort of) and the Dragonborn beat him before (sort of). Throwing them all together is a little over kill. That and I could not justify the other dead in the Hall not coming to their aid in either the fanfic or in the game. So yeah, solo fight. Wee.

That and well… creative license for the win.


End file.
